Deborah Simmons - The Dark Viscount

‘It could be that she doesn’t want me to stay here,’ Barto mused aloud.

‘Any idea why?’

Barto shook his head. She had turned and stalked away without the slightest attempt at gracious excuses, leaving him to watch the slight sway of her hips, a sure indication that Sydony Marchant had grown up. Although he had glimpsed her at the funerals, he’d been too sunk in his own misery to notice. But now, in much closer quarters, the changes were very apparent.

Sydony had always been boyish, a smaller, more delicate version of Kit. Although she was still slender, she could not be mistaken for a lad with those round breasts, gently curved hips, and that luxurious mop of hair. Mop was right, as her tomboyish ways still left her looking more dishevelled than any proper female should. So why did he feel a sudden interest in seeing her even more dishevelled?

Barto frowned at the thought, which he found both repugnant and vaguely incestuous. Although they had no blood ties, a childhood spent in close contact with Sydony Marchant made her seem like a relation, which would explain his fury over her being here alone and unprotected.

He glanced at Hob. ‘Did you find anyone else around?’

‘No, sir. Not a soul, and it looks like the place has been abandoned for a while.’

Had Barto known of their solitude when she threw her arms about him…But he hadn’t, and he had been chased by too many females intent upon the promise of a comfortable living and a title not to wonder whether Sydony would presume upon their old acquaintance to secure her future. The idea seemed laughable now, after the abrupt change in her attitude, but what had caused the change? His failure to return her embrace? Kit’s arrival? His subsequent plans to stay? Or was it something more sinister?

Barto’s expression hardened at the reminder of his mission, and he turned his full attention to Hob. ‘We’re going to need some help…’

To Sydony’s surprise, they soon had more supplies and the crates that had been shipped ahead, as well as a cook, a maid and a man to help with unloading, lifting and general repairs. Throughout the afternoon and evening, Sydony hurried from one task to another, consulting with the new servants and doing what she could to make the place more presentable, but her mind kept drifting back to one thing. And it wasn’t the maze.

Try as she might to dismiss him from her mind, Barto lingered in her awareness, drawing her attention like a nasty boil of which she could not be rid. It seemed that everything she did made her consider his reaction, which only annoyed her further. She was torn between her desire to improve the house, so that he not disparage it, and a wish that he be as uncomfortable as possible, so that he would leave.

Even Sydony recognised the impulses as contradictory.

She acknowledged that the manor had begun to look better already. Cleaning and airing and light did much to improve the place, though Kit would not hear of removing the ivy that clung to the exterior. He claimed the vines added character, while Sydony thought they just made the building dark and eerie.

Barto said nothing. For Kit’s sake, Sydony had hoped that the easy familiarity that once existed between the neighbours would return, but that had not happened. The friendship of two boys who seemed to share each other’s thoughts had been replaced by a mannered distance imposed by Barto.

He stalked around the their home with a coldness and arrogance that Sydony found unbearable. Although she told herself that she was outraged on Kit’s behalf, she was more angry with herself, for noticing the man at all.

Indeed, far from cheering her, the presence of their former neighbour seemed only to heighten the sensation of being cut off from all she knew, the servants, friends and villagers, the country dances and small social pleasures of her former life. Although remotely situated in their new location, Sydony was surprised they had received no invitations from the local gentry or welcoming visits from neighbours. But for Mr. Sparrowhawk and the arrival of the servants, it was as if the Mar-chants were alone.

And now, as they sat in the hastily cleaned dining hall, Barto’s presence cast a pall over the table, making her tense and aware of all her shortcomings, or, rather, the house ’s shortcomings.

Oblivious to any undercurrents, Kit chatted away about the place, while Barto contributed his opinions. To Sydony’s surprise, he appeared to be very knowledgeable about managing property. When had he come to care about drainage and tenant farmers and enclosure laws? Although he probably could use all that information to run the family seat, she thought he’d lost all interest in his future responsibilities when he went off to school. Were the rumours of him being sunk in dissipations in London just that, ill-founded gossip?

‘Are you living at Hawthorne Park, then?’ she asked.

Barto’s dark gaze skimmed over her, as though he had forgotten her very existence. ‘Yes. I have been home for some time.’

His cursory response irked her, and Sydony was tempted to ask why he had not paid them a visit before they moved. But the maid entered the room at that moment with another course.

‘The cook is to be commended,’ Kit said, as he dug into a piece of boiled beef. He was happy with simple fare and lots of it. Although he was nearly as tall as Barto, Sydony swore he was still growing. ‘I think she will do nicely for us.’

‘But she won’t stay above a month,’ Sydony said. ‘She is moving away to live with her daughter.’ Or, at least, that’s what she had told Sydony when pressed. The woman was terse and uncommunicative, so Sydony could only hope for someone more agreeable in the future.

‘Have you talked with all of them, the new servants?’ Barto asked.

‘Of course,’ Sydony said. Did he think her a useless henwit? Or did he imagine that Kit had suddenly developed an interest in running a household? As the sole female, she had been in charge of their home for years.

Barto did not glance her way when she answered, but looked to Kit. ‘It appears that Mr Sparrowhawk was not exaggerating his difficulties, for they seem rather reluctant to be here.’

‘The servants?’ Kit asked, with a look of surprise.

Sydony frowned. ‘That is not true. The maid is fresh and eager for her first position.’

‘Perhaps because she does not know the house, but the other two are less enthusiastic,’ Barto said.

Sydony blinked at him. Had he always been so obnoxious, or had he acquired the habit when living in London? Perhaps it was his newly elevated rank that made him an expert on every subject, even her own staff.

‘I don’t know about the cook or the maid, but I talked to the fellow, Newton, and he did seem a bit peculiar,’ Kit admitted. ‘When I said we needed someone to clear brush, he was quite adamant in refusing any outside work.’

‘Perhaps he has an aversion to fresh air,’ Sydony said.

Barto ignored her jibe, as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘Apparently, there’s some sort of history to the house, but I can’t discover exactly what. No one is very talkative.’

Although Barto’s words confirmed her own suspicions, Sydony did not want him ruining Kit’s pride of ownership with vague insinuations. ‘I think I should appreciate a house that has been talked about,’ she said.

‘Most definitely, especially if there is a delicious scandal attached,’ Kit said with a wicked grin. ‘Perhaps an illicit affair.’

Sydony nearly choked at the thought of Great-aunt Elspeth being involved in something so tawdry, but she fell in with the spirit of the moment. ‘I think I would prefer a duel,’ she suggested.

‘Or orgies along the lines of the Devil’s Club.’